Girls and Boys
by smokingace
Summary: It's like the Battle of the Sexes, only they are indeed in trouble. With the 14th in the way, Allen is finding it very hard to just be a very good boy.


**Title:** Girls and Boys

**Fandom:** DGM

**Author:** su-dama/smokingace

**Pairing:** Allen/Lavi, Lavi/Miranda, Allen/Lenalee, Lenalee/Kanda

**Rating:** PG-13 for light and dark themes

**Words: **4, 840

**Disclaimer:** DGM belongs to Hoshino Katsura et al.

**A/N:** Wouldn't you be interested in being privy to their less than militant affairs? Title and few lyrics from a song by The Rumble Strips.

**-Girls and Boys-**

**In love;**

**ain't it a shame.**

Those certain feelings start when Lavi is in the middle of teaching Lenalee how to speak with an American accent. He laughs and pokes her arm and beckons—("C'mon, c'mon, give it t'me")—annoyingly. She's too shy; she won't do it. Lavi persists. Lavi insists. Lenalee giggles and spoons silken pudding into her mouth. She purses her lips around the mouthful.

Allen joins in on Lavi's laughing when Lenalee finally squeaks out, "How's it goin', cowboy baby?"

Link nearly chokes on his red velvet cake. Allen watches out of the corner of his eye as Link turns a similar red that more than confirms his interests in girldom. Allen smiles a smug smile and pays attention when Lenalee repeats herself, laughing at herself as if it's the most embarrassing thing she's ever had to do.

Intrigue!

He watches as Lavi continues to laugh his head off and as Kanda gives them a look that all but mutters _I'm-surrounded-by-idiots_-_for-real-this-time_. Allen feels a laugh coming on, a different kind of laughter that hopefully won't mirror Kanda's alienation of them all. He tries to stave off the laughter by tightening his tie, but it's too late and he is giggling along with Lenalee.

Lavi must overhear this because he then asks Allen to say the same thing. At first, Allen loosens his tie to breathe past the ridiculous sounds in his head. He starts to say something but stalls, and too late again, he collapses in a bout of embarrassing giggles.

"I s-shan't do it."

Lavi gasps dramatically and points. "Wager our spotted inspector can do it?"

Link just collects his dishes with a noticeable jam stain on his lip and walks off.

Lavi makes a face that says _why-can't-I-get-him?_ Allen would bet his right arm he thinks this just as much as Kanda thinks they are retarded.

In fact, why _is_ Kanda sitting with them if they are so retarded?

Lenalee muses that Jerry must have put another spice in the pudding this time.

The dining hall in their new headquarters is getting quieter. They're the last again. Their meals have become social outlets, which is difficult considering churches, being what they are, make it kind of impossible to act like normal barbarous teenagers.

Lavi goes back to prodding them for amusement and Allen says, "Lavi, you sound like such a broken record."

Lavi stops eating to frown for a second while Lenalee and Allen start another round of laughter. Lavi soon joins in, anyway, accidentally flicking specks of steak sauce from his fork across Kanda's white blouse. They all make their _oops-someone's-gonna-die-tonight_ face, except for cranky Kanda who makes his _oh-no-it's-ruined-that-bastard-I'd-like-to-see-him-get-this-stain-out _face.

Allen secretly knows that Kanda secretly likes to keep things squeaky clean.

So he says, "Mah, what big spots ya have, cowboy baby." And he has to admit, his American accent is brilliant. With, um, a touch of—

"Geeey! Why you gey cat!"

Not exactly the word he was looking for.

Lenalee is laughing but she bops Lavi on the head as if to spare Allen the horrible truth. They're all in on it, knowing terms that mostly whores used to call Allen on the road. Lavi leans over to pat Allen on the head and to tell him, "Sorry, mate, but you got that delicate streak in ya." He winks and Allen, sulking, can see that sparkle in his eye. He can also see Lavi's delicate streak; maybe somebody else can.

They are saved just in time as Jerry swoops in, braids flying and hands clasping each other over the remains of their meals. In Allen's case, over the remains of his dishes.

"How did you like it tonight?" Jerry swoons, and then adds, "Oh little Lee-Lee, I could hear you from the kitchen, you shouldn't speak so brashly. Men don't want to hear their darlings talking the talk of the scarlet harlot, eeeh?"

Lenalee raises her eyebrows to possibly think it over. Allen bites his lip.

"Perhaps you as well, Allen. But you do sound _so_ adorable."

Allen gapes and looks around at the others for any denial on their parts. He is met with glee. Kanda actually lets out a puff of air that resembles human laughter, and Allen starts to plan the next chance he gets to, oopsy-daisy, trip him in public. (Not down the stairs, though; that's just bad manners.)

"You too, _Yuu_," Jerry smiles, nodding his head sagely. Lenalee and Allen sit there in pleasant shock as Lavi spits out his juice.

--

Those certain feelings are still present when, the next day, Allen is leaving for a quick-by-portal mission to the Orient. Lavi sees him off, maybe out of boredom, maybe out of waiting for something, though what boredom there is to be found is a mystery to Allen, and what the devil could Lavi possibly be waiting for aside from Bookman? Honestly, they all had to be somewhere, doing something, being _something_.

Waiting is a waste of time.

Allen can feel that something rising from his stomach. That one part of him knows what it is, how welcome, no, yes, no, coming up.

But now, Lavi is seeing him off, like he's Allen's best friend.

Perhaps.

"Be sure to drop me a line if you get too lost," he says, ruffling up Allen's hair.

Allen purses his lips, flares his nostrils, smells foul play, and says, "O master, how I serve thee, let me count the ways."

Lavi nods in approval. They laugh it off before Allen turns away from him. And honestly, Allen is captured by a strange sense of un-self, like that something is taking over, and making him smile in that devilish way, in that cryptic way hopefully no one can see or sense or guess.

_O silly God, watch me spread my wings and take flight._

_Watch my kind rise._

The something inside of him, however, knows how not to be a target, that vixen victim, and it quickly dissipates, leaving traces of power like sugar coating along his teeth. He licks them and turns to grin at Lavi.

To blow him a dirty, dirty kiss.

_Yes, I'm risen._

Then Allen leaves through a tunnel made of wind.

_O master, such power, I take from thee._

_--_

As dependable as deadlines go, Allen manages to come back a day late.

Due to, you know, the usual.

But that's not the point. Though Lavi begs to differ, ignoring Allen's slight improvement.

"_You got lo-oost_," Lavi sings, bouncing on his toes and waving a pack of cards in Allen's face.

Allen's mood does not improve.

"Lavi, do not wave a pack of cards in my face unless you really plan to lose, like, an eye or something."

"Been there, done that, mon ami," Lavi says, tapping his patch.

"I'm talking about your other eye. Such a pity it would be. I would no longer bear witness to the utter envy that shines there like a drop of dew on a dewy day."

Allen isn't sure whether he's the one talking or if there is something very, very wrong. Lavi, for his part, never talks about his injury, and Allen rarely talks so freely, and that is where their comfort lies.

Until now. Until recent, actually.

Something is different here.

_Yes_.

Lavi's face doesn't give any indication that he's hearing the same voice coming from the corners of Allen's ears. He more or less looks like the swarthy boy he is, with a little more hair growing in on his chin, maybe bigger hoops in the ears.

They just keep going and going and going.

"Allen, though you may scare the shit outta me at times, it does not mean I want to adopt your split-personality disorder."

"Oh." Well, what a bummer.

"But I do like playing with it, ya know? You're such a brat."

"You've been talking to Kanda again, I see."

Lavi laughs. "I'm always talking to Kanda, even in m'sleep."

"Is that why Bookman won't sleep with you?"

"Bookman won't what?" someone asks, and it's Miranda walking nearby, stopping at the doorway of Allen's room. They've absentmindedly set up the little table, kicked Link out, and dealt the cards. Allen and Lavi are very good multi-taskers by nature; when together, they are the moon and the tide.

Sometimes brothers need each other just for a peaceful game of cards.

"Oooh! Can I play?" Miranda nearly shouts, jolting Allen out of a false move.

"No," they say.

Miranda makes a tearful _eep_.

Lavi looks at Allen; anyone could see where this is going. "Come back, Miranda. Are ya sure you wanna play?"

"Haha ooh I be, how you say, delighted, _ja_?"

Lavi has that glint in his eye again. "Hohoho, I be delighted, too."

Allen gets that special feeling that only comes with suspicion. "Lavi."

"By the way, Miranda, in order to play, you must give us your best poker-face."

"Poker-face?"

"Yep!"

This can't be it. Wait for it. This is an art. Wait for it.

Miranda looks between them. "Um?"

They hear footsteps shuffle nearby; Allen does a double-take at the doorway. "Crowley!"

Crowley, who tends to shy away from human competition (and contact), jumps a mile, and then straightens his composure. "I come to see how you are getting along, Allen. You are done with mission today?" He pauses, raising an eyebrow. "Did you not get lost again?"

Allen can never help his nervous chuckles around him. Crowley takes the cheer as a good sign and lets himself in, bowing at Miranda.

An odd thing happens, though. It is so odd, because it is now between Miranda and Crowley. Allen and Lavi are simply outsiders spying into their private lives, into the very attachment they can see being cultivated. Here. A feeling of psychosomatic morphine that numbs the muscles.

Miranda's face is barely alit with love. It could just be a dying fire inside.

Is this what love looks like?

So inconspicuous that—

_You see it, too, don't you_?

"Yes!"

Silence.

Ermmm.

All three have turned to stare at Allen. For a moment it is a bizarre dream. He remembers himself and realizes his outburst had not been exactly his own. That it had been instigated by some stickler sticking to his ears.

"Er, as I was gonna say, tha's your poker-face right there, Miranda," Lavi continues carefully.

Oh. Now he's never going to get Lavi off his back.

Or hers, apparently.

Miranda smiles a true _should-I-run-or-should-I-hide_ smile. Crowley hurries himself out, saying something about a haircut.

The three remaining listen for the footsteps to die away. Allen's a bit confused.

Seriously confused.

"I better deal then," Lavi says brightly. He reshuffles the cards quicker than Allen's ever seen him.

"_Somebody's been practicing_," Allen sings.

Lavi threatens to beat him this time, keeping an eye on Allen's sleeve, which causes Allen to snort, which causes Miranda to magically pull a hanky from between the buttons of her bosom, which prompts Lavi to remark, "By the way, this is strip-poker, so there's no backing out now. Once you sit, you commit, as they say."

And without further ado, Allen knocks Lavi off his chair.

_No sitting, no committing_, _no mercy indeed_.

--

That weekend, Allen and Lavi get into their first fist fight.

Okay, first bona fide fist fight. (Fights over who-gets-to-pick-on-Kanda-next don't count.)

People enjoy a good show especially when it's least expected.

They were leaving the archives of the church complex and walking the outskirts of the courtyard when Lavi started it with his talk of really disturbing subject matter.

Like what would happen if Allen was left on a deserted island with no food in sight. ("Gasp, gasp, no food whatsoever!?")

You know, really disturbing stuff.

Allen's lip twitches. He says, "Weeell, I'd eat my boots."

"Wrong, sorry, you lost 'em."

"What."

"Just think, most likely you would have lost them since you can barely keep with direction yourself."

"I can certainly keep with direction."

"Er," Lavi pauses.

"Er, aside from my getting sidetracked this very last time."

"That's the thing, my dear boy. How in the hell do you lose your way with two golems _telling_ _you where to go_? I mean, it defies the logic _I_ live by."

Having no food defies the logic _Allen_ lives by. Huff! He doesn't want to talk about it.

Lavi randomly walks a circle around a pillar and Allen follows suit, only noticing a minute too late that Lavi is leading him on, literally, into a tree.

"Lavi, why are you climbing that tree?"

He seems to be enjoying the nice breeze up there, as well as the daring look Allen is giving him.

Come to think of it, Allen seems to be providing a whole array of looks lately, from appalled to appalled-because-Lavi-is-the-biggest-freak-known-to-Allenkind. The latter appears more oft than what is humanly possible.

Accordingly, Lavi is a freak when he does stuff like tell Allen to stay still so he can jump his shoulders from above.

"What is with you and cowboys, Lavi? If I didn't know better. . ."

"O mon loverly ami, you don't know better." He winks. "Move just a bit to the right."

Allen refuses simply by moving very far to the right, sending bad vibes to Lavi's most sensitive regions. He wonders if Lavi's ever had a bad itch in a bad place at the worst time.

"If you try jumping me, I will—"

"Will what?"

"I will stop being your friend." The words come out like a threat, and that's exactly what they are. At least that's what he thinks it is, hearing it echo against the slate around him, surrounding them like some time capsule.

The echo is not empty.

Suddenly, Lavi is laughing at him and maybe even taunting him. He jumps to the ground, boots clinking and crinkling like, uh, somewhat arousing leather does. They somehow are forbidding, but nonetheless still _fucking torturing him_, _aah_.

Allen scrunches his nose like how he used to do when faced with a little problem. Something inside him wakes from a catnap, stretching its hindquarters, swishing its tail.

Slinking like a whore around the corner.

And now the final image comes to him, ebony, smelling of pipe tobacco and holy soil, grinning teeth, laughing.

"Hey. Lavi."

"Er, hey you, too."

Allen approaches him quietly. He takes a swing. But Lavi is off guard.

"Hey—ow—w-what're you—what the hell, Allen?!"

"You should learn to choose wisely with whom you tease," Allen says, elbowing Lavi in the stomach with too much force.

They seem to fall into the fine makings of a brawl until someone notices. A few someones. Allen can hear the people around him gasping in shock and pointing and whispering and too scared to say anything. They disgust him, though he laughs inside, pealing right out of him, splitting in two when confronted with Lavi's fist to the face. Popping.

"Don't provoke me. I swear, don't provoke me," Lavi spits, blood in his mouth.

His voice. It's changed.

And suddenly, the world seems right again. Allen lays sprawled on the ground for a second, to drown out the shock and the noise and his own slip. When he looks away from Lavi's face to the summer sky, he's met with Lenalee's wrath, coupled with Bookman's typical greeting.

"Lavi, I am not raising you to be an asshole."

"That's right! What were you think—wait, what?"

"Pardon, Lenalee."

Allen watches her shake her head and wave a hand in Allen's face, _hello-hello-are-you-braindead? _ "And what were _you_ thinking? This is ridiculous. You know you're under supervision. They'll surely pin you for this one, Allen. What were you thinking, hm?"

"I don't know." He gets on his feet, wiping the blood from his shirt. "I don't know. Probably."

He notices that Lenalee's missing a few buttons to her gown. He sniffs, smelling blood and—it-_can't_-be-sex. He focuses his attention on Lavi. He notices that Lavi's thumb is blue, fingers bruised.

"Let me see, you idiot," Bookman barks.

"It's. Fucking. Broken," Lavi growls.

"Watch your language."

"Dun bend it that way—ow, motherffff—!"

"Deal with it. What have I taught you?"

Lavi's laugh is hysterical. "As if! This is not the field, I'm not about to set my own—"

"I'll do it," Kanda says.

As Lenalee leads Allen away through the growing crowd by the arm, they see Kanda rushing over, still in an undershirt. Allen holds his breath.

_I can see your curse, boy_.

"You'd like that, eh?! Goddamn it, leggo! Hey, hold it, dun touch that!" They can hear an inhuman whine meant for dogs. Then halfheartedly: "Where's Lenalee?"

They hear Kanda make one of his _what-the-fuck-for!_ noises.

"C-cause. I'll need a good set of distractions, w-won't I?"

"A-Allen? What on earth? Where're you going?" Lenalee says, ears blushing.

"To break his other thumb."

But Kanda had already started on it.

--

Needless to say, Allen hasn't seen Lavi since.

Moreover, Kanda doesn't make an appearance until about a week after the incident. (Allen calls it an accident, but whenever he does, he gets looks that tell him he's not to be trusted on that, even though Allen has reminded them repeatedly that Lavi had given him a broken nose. Even under interrogation did they doubt his sweet-honest-to-Buddha words.)

When in fact Kanda does make his climactic appearance, he is dressed in a suit to the neck, English tie undone around it as if it's the most natural thing to do. He looks as if he's just finished with an overrated teatime with the generals.

_Boy_ does he look mur-der-ous.

"Ffff. What the hell is this," he says, yanking off his tie like a whip.

"Ah, enjoying the beautiful weather, Kanda?" Marie hums.

"Making Marie his meal," Lenalee hums, too.

"I stitch little Lee-Lee's dress," Miranda hums, three.

"Yum yuuummm," Allen says, eating little-Lee-Lee's-lunch-for-Marie. Lenalee swats his hand away from the gourmet sandwich.

They all have such lovely hobbies.

Marie tells Allen to never make that sound again, please for his super-ears, and Allen must respect this wish.

All right then. "Mmm-mmmm!"

Lenalee throws him an extra piece of meat before sitting ten miles away with the picnic basket.

"Oh Kanda." Nice pinstripes. "Come here for a moment," Allen says. The addressee, formerly one to ignore such requests from a supposed brat, walks over with a limp in his leg. Or hip. Or butt? "Um, I don't know if you've noticed, but you're a bit off. . .kilter. So anyway!"

"Eh. What do you want."

Allen unfolds the tattered paper from his belt. "As you can see, Lavi has forgiven me for the broken thumb, and I have forgiven him for the broken nose. However, I regret to say that I think he has not yet forgiven you for the attempt on his life."

"Hell, it was only the other thumb."

Allen holds up a finger.

"And finger."

"Yes, maybe that's why his letters are missing their dots and crosses."

Kanda shifts to his other foot. "Your point?"

Allen follows his line of sight. Ah, perfect. Strategy in progress. "Mm, we both know how Lavi is, skirting the truth in person, proclaiming the truth behind our backs, blah, blah, and so forth. He cracks me up, that bloke." Kanda's eyes go dark. "And Kanda? Did you see Lenalee's dress? It's quite something, _isn't it_."

The dress for just-in-case. How Lenalee is so oblivious to what she'll be wearing is beyond him.

Miranda is now spoiling it with the lace Allen kind-of-sort-of stole from the dress-maker's bin down the road.

They all seem to wait for a storm to pass, and then Kanda excuses himself without a word, an alarm in his step. By the time he reappears, they are still waiting for the storm. Marie is happily munching on his sandwich, so he doesn't take much notice to the tools or jar in Kanda's hands.

Yet there is a knowing smile on his face.

As for Lenalee, she must already be used to Kanda's forays into botanicals. She merely hums, preparing another sandwich with tender loving care.

Allen wonders if he's the only one who's noticed the trail of seeds following Kanda to the garden plot. He sings a soft ditty and curls an odd strand around his finger, winking over at Miranda who is trying very hard in minding her own business. He tucks away the piece of paper and figures, _I still got it._

_What lies we weave._

They all have such lovely hobbies.

--

They are dancing the next morning, when it's just growing light. There is a faint mustiness on the air. Allen is back to his game of watching his prey.

No, no, not his prey. Just. . .

He watches as Kanda takes Lenalee's hand by the pond. He sees the humility on Kanda's brow and the appreciation in Lenalee's smile.

Allen works his jaw.

He sees their hands meet here and another hand touch her waist there.

And Allen works his grip on the pillar. His nails start to leave gashes. They break. He can feel himself wearing his serious face. He can feel himself getting mean.

He can see her in that just-in-case white dress. God, he can see her. There would have been no need for Lavi to tell the truth; things just tend to fall into place when they're not looking. When he wasn't looking.

Kanda and Lenalee dance by the pond, around it, braving the edge, her soft laughter carrying over to anybody who would listen. They look happy. They look too happy, even with Kanda's pinched expression that says _I-am-only-doing-this-as-a-favor-but-really-I-could-be-happy-doing-this._

Allen can hear someone laughing in between Lenalee's laughter. How. . .

_Annoying, yes? You want her for yourself._

No.

_You are becoming something else._

No more.

_Come with me, belong to me, become me._

Allen grits his teeth and closes his eyes and then realizes that sunlight would kill it. Whatever, whoever, it is.

Just die. The thing won't die.

What did General Cross once say?

He's in the grip of an occupational hazard. He now knows what it's like to lose his mind; he's learning what it's like to be invaded.

It's true, what Cross had once said. You better run while you still can and all that shit.

Suddenly he sees, and as the sun is still hidden in the morning, he yearns for it. But what he also sees is a girl in a damned white dress with her partner in crime, pretending they are so happy in such sour times.

When Allen no longer is.

"I promise I will find you," Allen says softly, blinking away the image of Kanda trying to twirl Lenalee because she wants him to.

"Find who? Allen, what you doin'?" a familiar voice says.

Allen screams like a girl, slapping a hand to his mouth.

Chaoji looks past Allen for a second before exclaiming, "Oh, I see, such beauty! Kanda, sir, nice footwork!"

And then it's all downhill from there when they hear another scream not unlike Allen's, a very loud splash, and the unmistakable growls of a panther.

Allen looks around the corner again when it's, uh, somewhat safe, to see Lenalee hugging herself in the pond, her teeth chattering. He thinks it best that he run. While he can. Right now. Yeah. While Kanda is still wiping the hair out of his eyes.

"Haha, haha, have a fabulous time dying, silly Ji-Ji, haha," Allen says, bolting in the opposite direction.

--

In his bed that night, ignoring Link, Allen curls into his bedcover with a debilitating hunger to make everything go away. Kanda has yet to come after him, and Allen knows Kanda had seen him standing there, watching like a sick pervert.

That's what's happening here; he is sick.

He hears movement from the other side; it's Link, kicking his sheets off again. That man also has problems, always kicking something out of his way.

"Are you awake?"

Allen pretends to be asleep.

"I know you're awake."

"Okay."

"Is there something you want to discuss?"

Silence. Sweet silence. It's like this all the time. No pressure.

Allen decides to talk. "Mmf," he says.

Link sighs and gets up and Allen can hear the door creak open and shut. He waits. Then Link returns with an _mmm_ smell accompanying him.

Allen attempts to lift the bedcover from his head enough to breathe it in. "Do I smell. . .?"

"_Mmf_ sounded like turkey, so I made an educated guess."

"For me?" Allen ventures out of his snuggly darkness.

Link grabs Allen's hand, places the turkey sandwich quickly into it, and stalks over to his bed. "Now eat it and go to sleep. No more moping."

Ah, so Link can't sleep unless. . .

_What I wouldn't give to eat._

_Him._

_Up._

"You too," Allen says around a bite.

And this is how Allen goes from waiting for Kanda to kill him to dreaming of Mana Walker. His dream is good stuff. This one, anyway. It spews warm hearts and walks down memory lane.

Memory being the operative word, for it turns into a beast, rearing up on him, huffing like it just doesn't know what to do with his scrawny hide. It is as ugly as Allen ever was. Bad little boy. Bad. Bad!

It is not his memory, though. He is seeing through the eyes of a man who is kissing his Mana on the nose. Allen's Mana. A frightful hand runs through Mana's hair, the curls that used to be there, on top of a head that Allen used to shine with his glove. His hands are still dark, frightfully beautiful, lithe and feminine and sinful.

But the dream is brief and he, like his old self, dabbles in denial.

He wakes when he hears someone whisper his father's name.

--

When Lavi finally comes back (alive) from someplace unknown, Allen has the pleasure of watching him mark his territory on a carved pillar in the entrance of the chapel, drawing a smiley face that could easily be mistaken for a—

"You should have told me you were back."

Lavi turns around, quite pleased with himself. "There you are! Kiss the face, Allen! Go on, praise my many talents with my left hand."

Allen Walker is just not that into you, thank you very much. Or your. . .left hand.

"Lavi. That's a rather misshapen penis," Allen says bluntly, and a bit condescendingly for his taste.

"Blaspheme! You speaketh nonsense. It is clearly a happy face."

The kind _the dancing queens_ were wearing?

"I mean, you're kinda emasculating males from all over the world, then."

Lavi grins, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Are you telling me you got a good and masculine penis, _Allen_? After all this time, how could I have missed your greatest fortune?"

And sure, surely Allen would get the urge to prove it. Really, it's not rocket science that he's sort of prone to competition.

It's not rocket anything.

Then again. Um.

Anyway, as how things usually go for their public displays of—oh, that's it, that's the word, affection—a crowd starts to gather around the pillar to see what the commotion is about. ("Where the hell do you lot come from?!") All the while Lavi claims it's a smiley until he realizes that, hey, what d'ya know, it does look like the penis Allen speaks of.

"Damn, Al, you're right. I can't draw worth shite."

Many of the Finders in civilian attire snicker at Lavi's lack of artistic flair; one openly remembers Lavi's infamous British graffiti from days of yore—

"Hey, naked ladies are _art_!"

—and many others begin to clear out in a frenzy, saying something about the moonshine code of conduct that only the swarthiest know.

Which meant that a general was coming. Is coming. A Very Important Person is coming.

Someone says, "Oh hello, madam, g-good day for a bloodbath?"

And Allen finds himself leaping out of there again, with Lavi at his side, past Cloud Nine, past her demon monkey, past the herd of Finders, and out into the afternoon warmth. It is not until Allen stops to breathe by the Thames does he sense Lavi's hand in his, sweaty and altogether very welcome, like his own tiny little house on the edge of civilization.

He doesn't let go.

He just lets it be.

In his own white hand.

Allen absorbs the way they sit side by side on the pavement, smelling the river flowing underneath, with dirty sophistication. With dirty, dirty love and life.

"Sooo, hey! I'll show you mine if—"

"Sorry, genius, that only works on Miranda, and I am _certain_ she'd kick you where it hurts." He grins an evil grin despite himself. Maybe at the thought. Maybe he wants to provoke Lavi into hitting him with his better hand.

They tilt their heads back toward the sky.

_Oh these dear things, what a pity._

_You sad girls and boys._


End file.
